The Curse
by silk345
Summary: Campfire stories are always fascinating; at least, that's what the Captain thought that night when he asked one of his men to tell one. Who knew he'd go with the legend of Solan the immortal?


I wanted to submit this in the World of Warcraft writing contest BUT I'm not allowed because Blizzard discriminates against people living in Québec. Or at least I think so... Anyway I had this chapter written by the time I realized that I could not participate and, instead of letting it go to waste, I'm oh-so-generously letting you guys enjoy it. Let me know what you think. If I get good enough replies, I'll probably continue this fic...

Note: The World of Warcraft doesn't belong to me. Anything you that you might recognize comes from the fantastic imaginary of Blizzard's employees. The plot (even if it's not much at this date), however, is mine.

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**The Curse - Chapter 1**

**Tell Your Tale**

"Ok then, who's gonna tell tonight's story?"

The four soldiers glared at their captain.

No one really wanted to do it. They were exhausted from their last battle, cold, hungry, dirty and barely conscious. Who cared about storytelling when they could actually hope for more than five hours of sleep? Clearly their new captain severely lacked judgment.

"If none of you volunteers, I'll have to sacrifice myself," added the captain in hopes of motivating his troops. "Do you know about the _Legendary Mount _legend?"

The night elf on his left let out a sign. "Whatever you do, don't let him go in storytelling mode," he said in a bored voice to the others.

"Why?" asked a new recruit, equally bored.

"I've been in his group for years now and I know from experience that he's horrible at it."

There was silence.

Then, "What is the story about?"

The captain smiled, glad that someone was showing interest.

"Well, you see, it's about this troll who wins a legendary mount, grows lazy and fat from lack of walking, and gets slain by a dwarf."

The new recruit raised an eyebrow. "You gave the ending punch."

"Oh." The captain's smile faded.

The night elf took his piece of roasted spider leg out of the campfire, blew on it two or three times to cool it down, and started to nibble on it. "Told you. He's the worse storyteller, ever."

The captain ticked. "Well, it's not like you guys are better! You're so boring. One of you better start telling a story now or I'll demand we start singing!"

The soldiers flinched collectively. The night elf head snapped up, boredom forgotten. He looked at his companions with fear in his eyes before frantically waving his roasted spider leg at the rogue next to him. "You, rogue, start talking. This is an order!"

The rogue stared at him from underneath his black hood, his blue eye like chips of ice. The air around them seemed to still. There was unmistakably anger in the rogue's deep and mysterious voice as he asked, "Why me? I don't even have to listen to you, unless it's a life or death situation."

"This IS a life of death situation. Not only does the captain have a voice that could raise the dead, but we are also currently right next to the biggest cemetery in the whole Eastern Kingdoms," hissed the elf.

"Not my problem."

"Do it!"

"No.

"Please?"

"You, do it."

The captain started humming.

Desperation entered the night elf's eyes. "If he starts signing, you'll have to sing too."

"Not if I can help it."

"I'll let you have this old and probably priceless book that I looted from that flesh eater we killed two days ago."

The rogue narrowed his eyes trying to read the title. His smile grew sinister.

"The _Daverick's Recipe Book Tome XIII. _Must be _fascinating_."

"It is."

"Fine then, you've got yourself a deal."

"Great."

Having eavesdropped the entire conversation, the captain stopped humming and turned all his attention to his two subordinates. "Well, what are you waiting for, rogue, we haven't got all nigh'. Let's hear it."

A gust of wind made the campfire waver. Farther away, they could hear the eerie cries of the Worgen signing in unison to the full moon. The rogue grew silent for a moment, obviously thinking of a story to tell. A couple of sparks erupted from the flames and lost themselves in the night sky, a bat flew overhead. Shadows danced on his face. Then, finally, the rogue began.

"You better listen, and listen well, for this is the last time you'll ever get a tale out of me," he said, in a dark voice. "And now that you've all been warned, open your ears and I shall start my story. Once upon a time…"


End file.
